“Yes, please,” I said, “Carlton.”
He was wearing a nametag, and it was an easy thing to read it while Carlton’s attention was fixed on Christopher.
Who nodded. And cleared his throat. “Yes, please, Carlton. If you’d clear us up?”
“Of course, my lord.” Carlton pocketed the coin Christopher slipped him. “You and the lady go on up in the lift, and I’ll let Mr. Blanton’s man know you’re here.”
“Thank you,” Christopher said politely, and nudged me ahead of him toward the lift. “Go on, Pippa.”
“Is anyone else up there, Carlton?” I wanted to know over my shoulder. “Mr. Hutchison? Miss Long? Mr. Rivers?”
“Just Mr. Blanton and his man,” Carlton said. “You go on up, my lord and miss. I’ll let Dobbins know you’re coming.”
Christopher shoved me into the lift ahead of him. “He doesn’t want to talk, Pippa,” he murmured. “Wait until we get upstairs. If Blanton’s home, he’ll tell us where to find Gladys.”
I leaned against the wall of the lift and folded my arms over my chest.
Half a minute later we were on our way down the corridor to Blanton’s flat, where Dobbins had already unlocked the door and was peering out.
Or no… it wasn’t Dobbins at all, it was Ronald Blanton himself, something which became clear when he pulled the door open with a cry of, “St George!”
“Mr. Blanton,” I said politely as I stepped across the threshold. “How are you holding up?”
He looked dreadful, I have to say. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin was pasty, his hands shook, and he looked worse than he had in Rectors yesterday, before Rivers came along and doctored him up. It had been a while since he’d had a hit of dope, I surmised, and he was in withdrawal. Hopefully he hadn’t expected Crispin to be able to fix it for him, because if St George was distributing cocaine, I would have something to say about it.
Christopher followed me across the threshold and turned to face Blanton, who greeted him feverishly. “St George! I’ve been so worried. What…?”
And then he stopped, and peered suspiciously into Christopher’s face before recoiling a step. “You’re not St George.”
Christopher shook his head. “I’m his cousin, Christopher Astley. We met last night.”
“Of course we did.” Ronnie began giggling. Once he’d started, it seemed to take him effort to stop. “Of course we did,” he said again once he’d gotten himself under control. “You looked rather different then.”
Christopher nodded. “You remember my cousin Pippa, I’m sure.”
Ronald looked me up and down. “You looked rather different, too,” he said, “but yes, I do.”
“We were hoping to find Lord St George.” I cut to the chase, since nothing seemed to be gained by beating around the bush. “Miss Long stopped by the flat and took him off somewhere. Since he’s not here, could you perhaps tell us where to find Miss Long’s residence?”
Blanton blinked at me. “Gladys did that?”
“At Mr. Hutchison’s suggestion, apparently. You don’t know anything about it?”
He shook his head, and kept shaking it for a bit too long. As if he couldn’t work out how to stop. “I haven’t seen anybody today.”
I eyed him narrowly. He didn’t appear to be lying. At least St George wasn’t tucked away in a closet somewhere in the flat, or in the butler’s pantry, breathing his last, then.
“Can you tell us where to find Gladys Long?” Christopher asked. “I’d like to catch my cousin before he goes back to Wiltshire.”
Blanton turned to him. And eyed him in a silence that went on for long enough that I was going to prompt him by the time he said, “She has a one-bed flat in a mews in Belgravia. The long one, near Eaton Square Garden. Starts with an E.”
“Eaton Row? Or Eaton Mews? Maybe Ebury Mews?”
“One of those,” Blanton agreed with an owlish nod, which was no help whatsoever. Eaton Row and Eaton Mews are as distinct from one another as Ebury Mews is from both of them. Nor are they the only three mews in that area. Not even the only three that start with an E. “It has a green door, and a green stable door next to it. She’s on the first floor, above the old stable. Lucky thirteen.”
He giggled.
“The street number is 13?” That would be a help, anyway. Number 13 with a green door; we ought to be able to find that, even if we had to look in a few different mews before we did.
